Jerik finally regains consciousness, and just somewhat awkwardly limps over towards the cafe.
"Ugh.. My head.. It feels like it's either burning of freezing. Or both.. I think I'll just have some water.."
He strangely enough felt like his magic had been doing somewhat the opposite of what it should be truly doing. Flashes of runes came through his head, piercing into the odd mental landscape from which he drew upon in battle. It resembled.. His homeland. A pale and cold place, filled with danger, from the few beasts that dare live there, and the undead legions that roam the wastes in search of their long dead enemies, who have by now surely joined them in their endless searches. It was here that he hailed from, and from here he drew his power. There were catacombs and fortresses that pockmarked this land, and in his mindscape, they were the very vaults from which he'd delve to call upon his spells.
But he was not alone in this mindscape.
There was another being, resting in it. It was a spirit, but also a sort of guide, to him. It whispered to him secrets of magic, and he spoke back in return. There would be no fragments of the artifact the spirit longed for, here.
<Now then. What do you wish to show me, my guardian, my companion?>
<This bit of magic comes from your soul, I believe. It's taint I know quite well. You should as well. However those paladins you encountered would not approve, that is for sure.. Hehheh..>
The spirit let out a bit of a raspy, hissing chuckle, and directed his mortal ally to a singular tower in his mindscape. Even in his mind, that place radiated darkness.
It was a tower of Necromancers.